


The Sunny Warden

by RubyCragg



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Chaos, Different Magic, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Smut, First Time, Flirting, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, Leliana (Dragon Age) Knows All, My First Fanfic, Personal Growth, Pregnancy, Sex, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Sparring, Zevran Arainai Flirts, duncan is awesome, please suggest some
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-12-31 17:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21149849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyCragg/pseuds/RubyCragg
Summary: 9:30 DragonA Blight is brewing in the south, the King is a reckless fool and the two youngest wardens are all that stand between Ferelden and the darkspawn. Alistair is sarcastic, Niska Surana is stubborn, Morrigan is disbelieving and the dog wants to hide whenever Leliana picks up her lute...





	1. Chapter 1: The Green Rider Approaches

The snow was falling fatly over Lake Calenhad when high up in the Circle of Magi, First Enchanter Irving was glaring at Knight Commander Greagior who had burst into his chamber with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.  
“A Green Rider is demanding entrance Irving; I thought the Commander of the Grey here would be the only interruption we were expecting today?” The templar growled at the elderly mage in front of him. Irving scratched his chin absentmindedly, and spoke as though the fuming warrior in front of was just a petulant child,  
“Duncan was meant to be our only visitor Greagior; something must be very urgent for one of the Riders to come all this way in the snow. Have you let them in?”  
“Yes, it’s the elf girl with the swords. She keeps saying that Highever has fallen or some such nonsense, she demanded to see you,” he answered as levelly as he could manage while Irving stuck his head out the door to ask one of the lieutenants to escort her up as though nothing was out of the ordinary. The grey warden sat quietly watching them both bicker like an old married couple, his dark hair and eyes set him apart like a lone crow on a clear, sunny day. He coughed and earned their attention.  
“If I may ask First Enchanter, what is a Green Rider? I have not heard of such an order before.” His tone was that of friendly politeness yet in spite of him addressing Irving, it was Greagior that answered through gritted teeth.  
“They are apostates that the chantry turns a blind eye to because they provide a service for Ferelden. They look after those of my order that lyrium overwhelms in exchange for the templars leaving Tallbay Island and all of their ‘free’ mages alone.” The disgust and loathing were written plain as day across his features when he slammed the door shut for privacy.  
“They are mostly healers and barrier mages, Duncan,” Irving croaked wearily, “They are of little harm to most and still have to complete the Harrowing. I don’t see why the templars feel the need to keep their existence a secret, they are merely an extension of the Circle after all and not permitted to leave their island unless to come here, or by invitation, Highever,”  
“We keep them a secret, Irving, because they live freely while we keep you proper mages locked up in here. They are even a secret from those in the lower rungs of my own order. One of your acolytes had already made several escape attempts so you would think you would appreciate our efforts. Anyway, the elf is different.” Greagior snapped, gripping the back of Duncan’s chair in a vice-like hold. Irving chuckled as the warden rolled his eyes,  
“Yes well, it wasn’t that when she healed that underling of yours last August was it? What was his name, Colin, Calin?”  
“Cullen. Cullen Rutherford. That is beside the point!”

A knock interrupted Greagior’s well-rehearsed tirade about the dangers of apostates, even just the healing kind. It was short and sharp and in the awkward silence that followed all three men could hear the ragged calls for entry. Duncan moved to let her in and quietly shut the door behind the young woman as she lifted her hood down from her blood-matted hair. It was blue-black in color and curved sleekly down past her waist. She shuddered as she spoke,  
“Irving, I was at Highever with old Ben and Howe’s men, they, they killed everyone even the little ones, someone has to stop them they have to, they,” The elf dropped to her knees as exhaustion took hold of her. Her face was white as milk and her green eyes were tinged with red from crying. It was only then that Duncan noticed what she was holding.  
“That’s Teyrn Cousland’s house seal, child, how did you come you by this?” She stared at him and then back at her hand in fear as though he would snatch it away. She was very clearly still in shock. Duncan eased his cloak around her for warmth and pressed her fingers shut over the seal gently, she looked between him and a nodding Irving before starting again.  
“Tallbay is sinking.” She began, “And we needed somewhere to go so we came to the mainland to offer service for protection until we got ourselves sorted out. Lord Cousland is, was, nice to us and let us stay with him while we did that and Howe’s men attacked after the men all left to fight for the king. They killed old Ben too, I got Lord Cousland to the servants quarters- he said there was a tunnel there- when his wife found us. He couldn’t make it, they made me leave I tried to heal him, Maker, I did I swear but he was too far gone Irving. So they made me promise to get this to his son Fergus, then I came here…” She trailed off and started to cry; her tears falling away like the consonants in her words as her accent got thicker with grief. She sobbed into her sleeves, trying to stop them but to no avail. No wonder, Duncan thought, it’s almost a week’s walk from Highever to the Tower and the girl looks like she ran all the way here. Irving seemed to have had the same thought as he gave the girl his now cold supper gathered her over to the fireplace.  
“You did the right thing, my dear, we’ll get word to the King about it and have a boat take you home in a couple of days once you’ve rested. There’s no point making yourself ill.” He gently chided her as she nodded and started eating numbly. He took Duncan and Greagior outside and sent a passing tranquil to prepare an extra room and a hot bath. Greagior at least had the decency to look abashed,  
“I’m sorry Irving if I had known she was serious then I would have let her in sooner. Poor girl, will she be the leader in Tallbay now?” He tried to sound casual but failed almost as much as she had. He had known Ben for many years now and considered him a friend, as odd as that may seem. It pained him greatly to think of his friend lost in the dark of his sightless eyes as Howe’s men closed in. He gave an involuntary shudder.  
“No, that will fall to Talwyn now, though it leaves Niska an orphaned mage once again and an elf to boot. She’ll be vulnerable. Will you pass her message along Duncan? She is right, Lord Fergus needs to be found.” Irving asked feeling his long years like a lead weight around his neck.  
“Of course. Although it would be better coming from her directly, Cailan has a… weak spot, shall we say, for pretty faces and playing the hero,” He gave a genuine laugh that warmed the sombre air.  
“Naturally,” Irving tittered, “I’ll ask her in the morning although knowing Tallbay’s loyalty to the family, she will likely say yes. I’ll send her to you when she awakes. For now, I have a missive to write and we all need to rest. Goodnight gentlemen.”  
***


	2. Chapter 2. Blood on the tiles

Niska awoke a little disoriented in the windowless room she had been given early the next morning. It was only as her bare and battered feet hit the stone floor on her way to the wash bowl a tranquil mage was holding that she remembered where she was. The Circle, you’re in the Circle. Niska breathe, she reprimanded her shaking hands that refused to put the laces of her breaches in the right holes. She swore under breath for the fifth time when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Even for an elf, she had always had an angular face but after three days and nights on the run with no food or rest she looked almost hollow under her wavy mass of hair. The eyes that stared back at her seemed to have aged far more than her nineteen years as a result and the usual spark that lingered there and got her into so much trouble back at home had curled up and died; it was a sight far too reminiscent of her time before she had arrived in Tallbay and she shook out her inky mane to scare away the ghosts before they could take hold. She would have to tell them herself exactly what happened, there needs to be something to show or tell or something, Old Ben had warned her of the troubles on the mainland, he had prepared for them in fact. As she hauled her tight tunic over her head, she fished about in the pocket for the paper she’d taken from the Arl’s study and began to draw. Most of the other villagers on the island couldn’t read more than their own names, and those that could wouldn’t want words just now anyway; they wouldn’t be strong enough. Locking her pain away in the farthest corner she could find, she began drew everything that would matter to them before drawing a picture of Ben sleeping for his pyre.  
It was in this almost trance like state that junior templar Cullen found her when he approached the room. Irving had asked him to escort her to his chambers so that she wouldn’t have to go through the awkward and envious stares from the other mages. Most of them weren’t particularly kind on the best of days towards the Tallbay mages and if the rumours fluttering around like flame-seeking moths were true, it was anything but the best of days. He had intended to make himself known immediately, but these things rarely go to plan. Instead, his gaze softened as he watched her formerly laughing face fix itself into the solemn mask of someone determined not to cry. Cullen found himself reaching out to comfort the mage - something that would have seen him severely disciplined if anyone had noticed - but stopped just short as he saw what was on the page. A middle-aged man was lying against the wall, with a wound the length of his palm in his side, smiled ruefully out the page towards his armoured wife who gripped his hands fiercely. Their nobility was etched into their pained faces with subtle skill and Cullen could just make out the back of the healer’s curly head as the Teyrn used his free hand to stop her spell. Once she was satisfied with it sometime later, she flipped to the final page- either unaware of his presence or just ignoring it as he crouched in front of her- and there on the tear stained paper was someone with a blindfold over his slumbering aged face, lying on a pyre just as a king from the legends would have been with two hastily scrawled names underneath- Old Ben Cousland, Grumps. It was the strangest half an hour he had spent watching a mage but somehow he found himself oddly at eases all the same. It couldn’t last forever. Cullen gulped uneasily as she let a hiccupping sob before turning her head slowly to meet his gaze.  
“Thank you for not stopping me,” she managed and rose to her feet. All he could do was nod at that before another question burst out in its place,  
“Why, why did you draw that last one? I’ve never seen anyone do that.”  
“It’s just something from home. No one else really does it besides us. We do it for the fishermen we lose at sea when there’s nothing to burn. He gets to go back to the Maker this way.” She sniffed, tucking her hair way behind her ears. Cullen laid a clumsy hand on her shoulder briefly before doing what he had been sent for in the first place.  
Irving waited, and then he waited some more, vehemently cursing the idiot he’d sent for the island girl for taking so long. It had been a long, long night between writing the letters that had to be written in the wake of the tragedy and learning of someone breaking into the phylactery chamber beneath the tower. He had his suspicions of course, one did not get to be First Enchanter without having one’s own sources of gossip about the lower ranks after all, but it still saddened him when one of his own fell to the sword as this one inevitably would. He vaguely remembered seeing the chantry sister scuttle away from the corner of the room when he had been talking over that month’s tranquilisation list with the Knight Commander but had hoped it had merely been a coincidence. His hope fell away when one of the newly harrowed apprentices came in and told him of Jowan’s plan and since then it had merely been a waiting game; Andraste’s flame I hate waiting, he muttered darkly to himself. The elderly enchanter decided to ease his bones by heading down to the stock room to retrieve the sweets Owain ordered for him every month, smirking to himself at the thought of the awkward templar boy and the stubborn Niska waiting for him to get himself back up the stairs on his return.   
It took surprisingly little to cheer Niska up as they moved around the second floor towards the stairs at the rear of the stock room. She marvelled at the sheer quantity of books in the library, stretching from floor to ceiling in several rooms and in spite of his training Cullen let her dawdle through. A small smile lit up her features from within as she scoured the shelves, finding notes stuffed into the books and she eagerly watched the other apprentices practise their fire and lightning spells with a child-like glee. Gradually, as they made their way through room by room, their relative peace interrupted by shouts of pain from the stair well to the floor below.  
“NO! I won’t let you; I won’t let you make me tranquil!” The voice filled with fear rippled round the spiralled hall and was followed by a woman’s shriek. Before he could stop her, Niska half threw herself down the stairs towards the commotion bowling over someone in her haste. A coppery scent flooded the air about them as an enraged young man, maybe a handful of years older than Niska herself, plunged a rust tinged blade through his hand. The power that oozed from it was intoxicating and the dark-haired mage cackled as all the templars, including Greagior, were pinned against the back wall; their armour was splintering around them as thickly as the snow outside. The only one that still stood was Niska, her mind flitting from corner to corner of the room taking in the damage of the spell, trying to figure out how best she could help the moaning men on the floor. She didn’t have long to react, another mage staggered on bloodied stone steps beat her to it and tried to force Jowan off his feet with a blast of lightning from his staff. Niska dashed to Greagior’s side, her hair standing up on end with the static leftovers and sent a silvery mist through the Knight Commander’s body to give him the strength to stand but he cried out instead. The other mage who had been battling the maleficar moments before, slammed into them both and in his stead, the man from the night before was battling swords to staff. Greagior gave the elf before him a tiny nod; the mage was unconscious but alive and Niska span just in time to see the flash of rusted steel fly straight for Duncan’s throat as the magic rose unnervingly about the already power-mad mage. Acting on pure instinct, Niska barrelled her slight frame into the warden’s side just enough for the blade to miss him and she grabbed Jowan’s outstretched arm on her back way up. From her white knuckles drifted a golden sea foam, pulsating with warmth that washed over the blood mage in front of her like a second skin. Keep hold now, he can’t cast if you keep hold, the words rose from the depths of her memory as she refused to let the man go and headbutted him under his chin. Swaying in her grip, Jowan’s eyes lolled briefly in his skull before he let out a howl and clawed at her throat but she was too quick. In the days that would follow no one in that room, least of all Irving who had just descended the stairs, could have told you exactly what the young elf did in the moments that followed. One second Jowan seemed to be overpowering her, her grip loosening a fraction and the next, she had flipped elegantly on the spot kicking out for all she was worth, her foot connecting with the mage’s face at the perfect angle to make him fall in a heap and see her land sweating yet victorious on his chest. The room was eerily still as she relocated her own shoulder with a healer’s expertise and a clunk.   
The stunned silence that followed wasn’t broken for some time, Niska, glowing in the adrenaline rush, went about healing the templars and mages alike. It had felt so good to hit something after the week she had just had; she was almost giddy with it. By the time she reached Duncan’s bewildered side, questions were rumbling around the Tower’s entrance hall.  
“It’s Niska isn’t it?” He asked in a deep voice. She nodded as the silvery mist healed his cheek quickly,  
“You’re a warden aren’t you?”  
“Yes,” he chuckled, “Is it that obvious?”  
“No, not really, it’s just one of the farmers Ben gets milk from got blight sickness a few months ago and I helped him through it to the end. You have a similar feel to you, sort of, it’s tricky.” She mumbled biting her cheek to keep herself from rambling again. A part of her mind reminded her that Ben used to get his milk, but she squashed it quickly as Irving pulled all of them into a room not far from where they were. Duncan looked thoughtfully down at the top of the girl’s head,   
“Thank you Niska,” he said quietly. She paid him no mind; she was watching Irving do a complicated spell over the door before he turned on her with a face like thunder.  
“Child, why?”  
“Why what?” She asked innocently although, given the previous times she’d been to the Tower she had a good guess at what was coming.  
“Why did you intervene? There were others there that could have handled it. Others who wouldn’t have just shown a room full of unknowing templars that they were a mage, others who wouldn’t be charged with apostacy!” The usually mild enchanter demanded expectantly. “Why did you risk it hmm? Why use that strange magic of yours and risk the safety of your entire village Niska? Well? I’m waiting,” Niska looked at her feet guiltily, tears welling up unbidden behind her eyes at the thought of all her village ending up in a place like this.  
“I had to help, they would have been hurt or worse- he was about to kill the warden for a spell, I had to do something! I wasn’t really thinking past that,” She barked back in frustration, her hands gesturing impatiently at the door. First Enchanter Irving let out a long and exasperated sigh through his nose and slumped back on the empty desk.  
“Niska, most of those men would have been hurt it’s true, but now those same men want to lock you up here or worse, tranquilise you alongside Jowan for being an apostate and there is nothing I can do to stop them if they decide to act upon on it.” His gaze was fatherly as he watched the realisation of what she had just done dawn on her. It can’t be true, I have to go home and help Tal, I can’t get locked up here! Her thoughts swam around her, angrily arguing with each other until they all came to the same conclusion: she was screwed, completely and utterly screwed. She sat down unsteadily on a chair in disbelief when Duncan placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.  
“Actually, I might be able to help. I came here with the purposes of recruiting potential grey wardens to fight against the Blight. No templar could touch you or your village if you were a warden, although you would likely never return. It would also mean you could tell the king in person what happened to Highever,” He left the question unasked as Irving gawped at him in incredulity.  
“Duncan, she can’t cast offensive magic, at least not the traditional sort. It would be akin to sending a bunch elf root against the darkspawn!”  
“You don’t give her enough credit First Enchanter; she was the only one left standing when the blood mage attacked and healers are in dire need. Not to mention her blatant skill in combat,” They continued to squabble back and forth as Niska mulled the offer over. It was sorely tempting. She would be useful, not a burden or a threat to anyone, she could stand against the world beside the other wardens and not have to act helpless for their own safety, in fact it would be the opposite. But it would mean she’d failed again as well; she had been sent away to get somewhere new for them live. Tallbay was trying to go back to the Waking Sea and they had nowhere else to go! Neither will anyone else if, if, it would be like Highever all over! I’m just running from shipwreck to shipwreck if I go home now. No, no more running, Nana was right you have to stand sometimes.  
“First Enchanter, if you would send letters and these,” She untucked the papers from her pocket and handed them over to him. “Back to Tallbay and try to buy them time I can go with him. With the Warden, I want to.”  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: A couple of things so this might get a bit long sorry, one Irving and Greagior (I hate the spelling for him - it’s like all the Seans) really reminded me of my grandparents when I played the game with the passive-aggressive snapping at each other. Two, after seeing what happens to Cullen in Inquisition with the lyrium addiction thing it made sense to me that the Chantry would have to have a place for the worst effected to be secreted away or there would be loads of crazy templars roaming around haha. The Green Riders are Ferelden’s northern paramedics as Tallbay is just past Highever and completely made up :) 
> 
> Well, this is the first glimpse of what Niska can do and even though the circle thinks she’s odd at best and at worse useless, she can certainly hold her own. Jowan really, really annoyed me with his whining in the game so the headbutt wasn’t just for her haha. Living with the threat and wildness of the sea is enough to make anyone practical so the villagers would have their own version of an Andrastian funeral for those lost at sea.  
Side note: drawing traumatic events helps make them solid (at least for me anyway) and easier to move with, rather than on from. That takes a huge amount of time.  
Next stop: Ostagar :)


	3. Chapter 3: Across the Hinterlands

Duncan had to admire the young woman’s courage as she repeatedly told the older, and in certain aspects superior, men who attempted to detain her as solidly as the shore denies the thrall of the sea. In the end, there had not been anything either Irving or the templars could do to prevent Niska from leaving, no matter how vigorously they tried to assert otherwise, for two reasons. One, mages were accepted by the wardens just like everyone else and two, Niska had made up her mind to go and no matter how hard they pressed her with reasonable arguments, threats, bribes and the like, it would not be unmade. So it came as a bit of a surprise to him when she was more than ready to simply follow his lead on the road to Ostagar.   
They had spent almost a week traveling through the Southern Bannorn, setting up camp as the sunset, leaving again as it rose and walking at a swift pace almost non-stop in between. She showed no signs of weariness or resentment for the long journey in the cold wind as some of the other recruits had done, and while she was understandably quiet, she was also more than willing to talk to him. Initially, Duncan had been glad that Alistair had stayed behind for this recruitment drive so that his well-meaning sarcasm could annoy someone else, but he was starting to regret it as this surely would have provoked some form of reaction from the placid elf traveling at his side. Niska displayed none of the fire he had seen in her brief standoff with Jowan at all and it would serve her well as a warden if she survived the Joining, but by the time the eighth night descended Duncan began to wonder if he had dreamt the whole scene. The tents were set up in infuriating silence for the old warden and she lit the fire quite happily as he tried to fathom her out from his side of the camp whilst he prepared the food. Finally, he thought as she began to talk aimlessly at him, I was beginning to think she’d used up all her words back at that blasted Tower!  
“Duncan, why did you agree to take me?” She paused her ramble expectantly. It wasn’t an uncommon question for recruits to ask and normally he would have answered with the ease of well-rehearsed answers like I saw something in you the wardens need, or we always need, insert a trait here, among them but something in her swirling green gaze stopped him. He had to be sure that she was as capable as he believed her to be and yet he suspected that purposefully winding her up would just make her laugh rather than biting back. Absently playing with his earing, he eventually replied with far more honesty than he had intended.  
“You reminded me of home.” Her head rose up from the kindling pile and she looked at him through widened eyes. For the first time in what felt like an age, the seasoned warrior had cause to blush- which he hid by edging closer to the now blazing campfire. “That came out differently than I was expecting,” Duncan offered wryly.  
“You and me both,” she snorted though not unkindly.  
“Yes, well, your magic and the way you fight alongside it, it’s not that different to the mages back in Rivain where I’m from. We don’t fear magic there.” He fidgeted under her curious gaze a little, why am I telling her all this again? “That’s what I meant. Who taught you that anyway?” Niska grimaced, oblivious to her future commander’s own discomfort. The oddities of her magic had always given others cause to scrutinize her in the past and that didn’t look like it was going to change under the wardens any time soon.   
“I was born in the Free Marches, the old lady who looked after me taught me before I had to go to Tallbay,” She gave him shyly. It was more than she had ever given as a way of explanation to enchanters at the Tower at any rate, if Irving’s story about the girl was to be believed. There is a lot of history behind those young eyes, he thought idly and let it drop.  
“She taught you very well from what I’ve seen.” He said as he offered her some of the dinners he had prepared. They spent most of that night talking about nothing while they sheltered from the wind; Duncan told her of his homeland (albeit on my mother’s side, he added mentally) and she told him of Tallbay and its people. It wasn’t a very personal conversation for either side but it helped to ease away the chill between them that Niska’s grief-heavy silence had caused since they had left Kinloch Hold. As the moon reached its apex and yawns could not be stifled, the Commander of the Grey took watch to hide his sleeplessness and Niska slept on the ground in the tent-like the darkspawn weren’t amassing in the wilds to the south.


	4. Chapter 4: The Welcome Wagon

Ostagar is an odd place to gather an army. That was the prominent thought in Alistair’s mind whenever he had morning patrol along the Tevinter ruin’s weather-beaten ramparts. Past its sturdy ancient walls lay the unpredictable, unmappable Wilds that stretched for miles beyond counting to Ferelden’s south and ahead lay the barren hills of the Imperial Highway. It was isolated from the rest of the country by a toxic cocktail of danger and rumour, yet the old fortress had stood firm against anything natural that either force could offer. Somehow, Alistair had the nagging suspicion that against all of its knowledge and fortitude, the oncoming Blight would end it all for the fortress. It was a fear he kept buried from the new recruits who trusted him to guide them through their Joining and even more so from the veterans who teased him for being Duncan’s pet; if aid had to come from elsewhere, it would be a long time before they reached the royal army and its handful of wardens. The dread chilled him far more than the scything winds that cut a path across the battlements in the pale autumn mornings.

Lost in his thoughts, Alistair watched blankly as King Cailan charged out with a scouting band towards the wilderness with joyful lunacy. The King’s blond hair (and if Alistair had anything to say about it, blonder temperament) crowned him even at a distance, shining down on the sceptical, overwrought faces of the men charged with keeping the reckless man in glinting hit-me-quick armour safe and made the nervous warden give a wry chuckle. _At least I’m not with him this morning_, he thought to himself when an unexpected hand tapped his shoulder. Spinning quickly, his hand reaching for his sword hilt Alistair let out a grunt when no imminent threat arose. He stared at the middle-aged, haggard man who had snapped him out of his reverie, taking note of how close his hooked beak of a nose was to his own. “Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t expect to see you up so early.” His clipped but slow salute said to the general of the royal army before his mouth could betray him. It usually did. “Watching the fool too, are you?” Loghain muttered as abrasive as always. “You won’t see many of the darkspawn if you are.”

“I was doing morning patrol sir when I saw the king leave the fortress. I thought…”

“Thought lad? Be careful it’s a dangerous thing,” Loghain interrupted enjoying seeing Alistair’s polite mask slip a little.

“I thought sir, that someone should keep an eye out from here so that an alarm could be raised quickly if there was a problem sir. Especially as the beacon is close by.” Alistair managed tersely. Duncan had made him promise not to rile up anyone while he was away too much.

“Huh,” Loghain replied suppressing how impressed he was with the young warden’s response with sarcasm. “Did it not occur to you that as the soldier on morning patrol it was not your role to keep ‘an eye out’ for one lone group but rather for that blight horde you and the other wardens insist is coming?” Alistair bit his tongue so hard he could have sworn the general could see it. He was about to answer when Loghain spun around and left slinging his news to Alistair over his shoulder. “Oh, and the revered Mother wants you to talk to the mage ambassador before you meet Duncan’s new recruit in an hour.”

“He’s back?!” Alistair shouted back. He dashed along to the ramparts that overlooked the ruin’s innards and cursed inwardly. Duncan had just walked over the bridge with a slight girl trailing in his wake with two curved swords slung across her back trying to keep up. Greeeeaaaatttt, more mages and I have to be the welcome wagon for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sorry for the wait its been a hectic few months. This is a short chapter but its one you never get to see as its all told from Surana’s point of view in game.


	5. Ostagar and the Other Warden

Duncan walked ahead of her, leaving Niska to tie her boots up again as the king sauntered off in the other direction. She wandered slowly down the bridge steering clear of the sides that showed the vast difference between her feet and the floor below and tried to think of what to do next. Fergus, so the blond in the armour who was supposedly king (although she highly doubted it, that a king really be that stupid and ride out for kicks on the eve of battle was beyond her) had said, was off with a scouting party in the Wilds and wouldn’t be back until after the battle so there was nothing she could do for the Couslands yet. This other warden that Duncan had sent her to find would probably be pitching in with the soldiers so he could wait too but if the growl from her stomach was anything to go by food couldn’t, right then I’ll go find some food first. She made her way through the old fortress, the sounds of chantry priestesses and spells wafting through the air with nervous energy, and eventually found the food tent after the snooty blacksmith told her where it was.

The tent itself was the most welcoming thing in Ostagar and stood proudly in its plaidweave against the gloom of the ruin as a home away from home for all the soldiers gathered. The cook had expected her to be a servant when she arrived but hesitated when her weapons came into view,

“You there, elf, you with the Circle?” He asked through broken teeth. Niska shook her head and shoved her plate under his chins,

“No. I’m with the Wardens. Your stew smells good.” She prompted him after he stepped back nervously. Licking his lips, he reluctantly served up the food and shooed her away towards the tables behind them. Niska smirked. It had taken a while before the villagers back home had taken to her for being an elf and even then, most of the boys still shot the occasional knife-ear behind her back. Having someone stop dead in their tracks from picking a fight with her just because she was with the wardens was a definite improvement. Still, the stew filled the ache in her stomach and the diluted beer she’d been given wasn’t as bad as it looked so she wasn’t about to complain. It gave her time to think about what the king had promised her anyway. Just how many men would it take to recapture the keep at Highever? How many would survive the darkspawn for that matter? Could they really beat Howe if they did? If what the kennel master had said to her about the mabari she’d cured was anything to go by, then it wouldn’t be enough simply to survive the conflict- they’d have to survive their wounds too. _Maybe they have some in reserves, like a second wave or something…_

The last sight Loghain had expected when he walked into the food tent was a scrap of an elf with dark hair chewing thoughtfully on her spoon while sketching something as though the tent were her own private chambers. It irked but intrigued him, not something that happened very often to the world-weary general, so he sat down opposite her. Her sketch was basic, yet all the same, Loghain could discern troop movements for maybe a hundred men that were scored out again and again around a castle with a large ‘h’ scrawled on a banner across the top. The troops were marked with ‘km’ and all along the edges were extremely imaginative tortures for Rendon Howe, or at least his stick figure. They ranged from impaling to burning to being fed to what he could only presume was a sea serpent and had been reworked as more painful designs occurred to the young woman. He wasn’t sure who she was or what his old friend had done to deserve such artistic fates, but it made him smile; another rarity in itself. His smile turned to a chuckle as she drew Howe hanging by his cock from a ship’s figurehead as fish bait and she finally realised he was there.

“Oh, sorry. Do you need the table?” She asked politely, her eyes darting anxiously to his sword.

“No not at all, what are you drawing if I might ask?”

“Just a doodle,” She murmured her arms crossing over it as she looked right at him. Not near him or around him or at his shoes but right at his eyes like she was reading a fascinating story in their depths. He gulped uncomfortably, this will not do, he thought.

“Well, is it your custom to draw murder scenes of well-respected noblemen?” He barked back. Her lip curled in disgust and the note was quickly swept up and hidden away. “Is it your custom to interrogate strangers ser?” Niska snarled as she shot up ignoring her banged knees.

“Loghain, General of the Royal Army and yes, especially when they act so suspiciously.” Much to his chagrin, this didn’t instil the respect and obedience he was hoping for. Instead,

“General, huh? Then why didn’t you stop the king form taking his men on a darkspawn hunt on the eve of battle when everyone will be needed to play their part in the fight to come?” The tent hushed expectantly, no one spoke to the general like that. Ever. Heedless as usual, however, Niska arched her eyebrow accusingly at the elder man in front of her before taking her leave. Not one of the soldiers raised a hand to stop instead, they turned to Loghain. “Get the king back now.” He commanded in low voice. With a flurry, the food tent was empty in moments.

Niska wandered away, oblivious to the chaos she had just caused and headed up the stairs on the right to have a look around. It amazed her that something man-made could last as long as Ostagar had; nothing lasted more than a decade or two on Tallbay because of the sea and her home in the Marches before that had been burned down in her wake. She ran her hand over the ancient stone in awe when her musings were interrupted by arguing from above. Curious, she walked up the stairs to find out what they were on about. When she saw two men at the top of the stairs bickering about the Revered Mother, however, her interest dimmed, and she was about to walk away when the taller man took of his helmet and turned to her. He was tall, even taller than Duncan which took her by surprise. His sandy hair, quaffed at the front, remained undented from the helmet he’d removed suited his weathered but young face. It was a smiling and slightly arrogant face, Niska decided, but not one she minded looking at as he beckoned her over and dismissed his disgruntled adversary.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings everyone together,” The man smirked as he sidled up to her. Now she could see him up close, the young elf realised he was about the same age as she was, _maybe that’s why Duncan wanted me to meet you_, she wondered as he stood there casually.

“In a ‘we’re all gonna die a slow and painful death so we might as well go together kinda way’, sure I suppose you’re right,” Niska replied the sarcasm coming naturally as he approached.

“Exactly! Albeit a slightly dark and twisted one, it’s a big party,” He drawled happily, “Wait we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage by any chance?”

“Sadly, yes I am but if you go ask those mages over there,” She pointed to the purple crackling tents below them, “They’ll tell you I’m a relatively harmless one. Does that bother you?” Niska asked gingerly, thinking it would be better to find out sooner rather than later if it did and they had to work together. His formerly bright expression seemed troubled as he regarded the Circle’s tent and then the girl in front of him. Eventually, however, he just shrugged,

“Not as long as you don’t turn me into a toad no. I’m guessing you’re Duncan’s recruit?” She nodded.

“I’m Niska, you must be Alistair then?”

“Ah, yes. Did Duncan say anything about me?”

“Only that you’re a junior warden and a little annoying but other than that no not much. You have to help us prepare for this Joining thing, right?” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck slightly embarrassed and bit his lip.

“Typical, what do you think to Duncan anyway? But yes, I do, although as a mage you should know, I am a former Templar… I don’t hate mages or anything, please stop looking at me like that,” His colour reddening as she looked at him guiltily and then at her toes, _Maker I’m bad at this_, he thought.

“Does it bother you?”

“Not as long as you don’t try to tranquilise me or throw me in the Tower then no,” she mimicked, her teasing putting him back at ease. They’d started towards the fire Duncan was tending slowly, nattering back and forth and picking up the other recruits, Jory and Daveth, on their way through before she answered his other question. “Duncan, he saved me from the Tower. I don’t live there you see, I’m from an extension of it on one of the islands off of Highever. We mainly do healing and defence magic, so we aren’t as heavily guarded. He seems like a good man though, stubborn too,” she rambled on nervously as Loghain stormed passed them, his mood clearly having soured from their confrontation as he shot her an icy stare. “That sounds like him, he rescued me too in a way.” He chuckled but didn’t elaborate as the Warden-Commander interrupted.

“Alistair, I see you’ve been riling up the mages again?” He reprimanded his junior lightly before setting them on their task. They had to collect a vial of darkspawn blood each which Niska didn’t think was too bad even though the others flinched at it and the other task was to collect some treaties from a ruin in the centre of the Wilds. Duncan dismissed them, watching Niska protectively and hoping he was right to bring her into the wardens, the First Enchanter’s comments ringing in his ears as they left the main camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included her bump into Loghain because it seemed like they should meet given how long one will hunt the other for. I borrowed some of Alistair's lines fromt he game but I hope you like the angle I took with it. I'll probably do this on and off through out but only when its a good line for the character.

**Author's Note:**

> Never written a fanfic before but I really loved the game and this came to me. It has some aspects that aren't part of the Dragon Age World- mainly Niska's magic and Tallbay Island- but I hope you enjoy it :) Please feel free to correct ant errors you find I can't type to save my life haha
> 
> I don't own Bioware or its franchises, if I did Duncan would have kicked Cailan's ass into gear. Thank you to whoever wrote The Lion and the Light & The Bloom After the Blight, as it helped see how a healer warden could work and how detailed the world can be- I can't find it in my history to link here


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